


stranger in the shell of a lover

by astralelegies



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: "yuuri has feelings and victor is a flirtatious bastard", Canon Compliant, Character Study, I challenge you to find an actual plot that isn't, I'm supposed to be working on NaNoWriMo, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, What am I doing, time is a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralelegies/pseuds/astralelegies
Summary: "Victor Nikiforov had always been just the right level of unattainable—an international skating celebrity who was close enough to dream about but remained constantly out of reach. Yuuri would see him at competitions, hoping for a chance to meet, praying that they wouldn’t, and thus a reasonable balance between reality and his own wilful illusion was maintained. Now Victor was his coach, his reality, and the balance was changing. He was on thin ice."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Recessional” by Vienna Teng (which not-so-coincidentally is a song quite befitting of this story). Now with a companion piece from Victor's point of view [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8650915)

Having Victor Nikiforov for a coach was markedly different from anything Yuuri’s previous life experiences could have prepared him for. 

For one thing, it was Victor receiving most of the attention of the season (which, in all fairness, was hardly unusual), with Yuuri mentioned almost as an afterthought, a piece of context in a more talented star’s story. Not that he really minded—let the audience pay attention to someone else for a change, it might relieve some of the pressure—but he was unused to training under someone who attracted so much glamour. 

No, the thing that bothered him about it wasn’t that the public was drawn to Victor like moths to a flame, or that it meant he himself faced a higher level of observation by extension (though the newfound media scrutiny could certainly at times be unnerving). What bothered him was Victor himself. His idol was an ongoing mystery, simultaneously everything and nothing like what he’d expected him to be, which Yuuri supposed was what he got for expecting anything of him in the first place. 

He supposed the whole problem was that Victor was, in fact, a human, and not some mythic skating god from another plane of existence. Which logically Yuuri had always known, but Victor Nikiforov the international celebrity and Victor Nikiforov who showed up to practice with bedhead, hungover, were two very different people. Yuuri had always just been Yuuri: not a celebrity, not remarkable by any means, just a boy who was good enough at skating to make a passable attempt at turning it into his career. 

But Victor would have none of it. 

“My job is to make you feel confident in yourself,” he’d said, like it was that easy, but now Yuuri was almost starting to believe him. He couldn’t deny the rush that had accompanied his first performance of Eros, feeling the crowd getting increasingly fired up, and Victor standing there, watching him, watching _him_ , Yuuri, and only him. People had started to pay attention then, but Yuuri had put it aside, and later after his first competition in months he let himself fall into Victor’s arms, blocking out the whispers and the beating of his heart. 

He tried not to think about them too much—these casual touches that followed a performance or a particularly inspired practice session, or were given out whenever Victor felt like it. They were foreign to Yuuri, but beyond that they made him hope, and that was something he couldn’t afford. Victor was a flirtatious person; it was in his nature, just as it was in Yuuri’s nature to start stumbling over his words whenever anyone brought up the mere idea of romance. There was always gossip, of course, even if he refused to listen to it. _There goes that Katsuki kid, sleeping with his coach._

And Yuuri could understand where those sentiments were coming from, but it really wasn’t like that at all, and if his rational half had any say in the matter, it never would be. Victor Nikiforov had always been just the right level of unattainable—an international skating celebrity who was close enough to dream about but remained constantly out of reach. Yuuri would see him at competitions, hoping for a chance to meet, praying that they wouldn’t, and thus a reasonable balance between reality and his own wilful illusion was maintained. Now Victor was his coach, his reality, and the balance was changing. He was on thin ice. 

Yuuri sighed. Having Victor Nikiforov choreographing his programs was everything he could have ever wanted, but somehow he was finding it increasingly difficult not to run away whenever they were standing in the same room. It was his last season. He couldn’t afford such foolishness, and yet…

He danced for hours at Minako’s; not the longest he’d ever spent but longer than he’d been intending. He had to win this season, to prove once and for all that he wasn’t a failure, that he hadn’t been wrong to devote his life to a mildly obscure sport that he was all too quickly growing out of. Without skating, what was he?

His coach kept him too busy to waste time mulling over all these recent complications. The days of practice were long, and later Yuuri would close his eyes and imagine running over his routine, Victor’s hand pressed lightly against the small of his back, and he thought he’d probably be the happiest he’d ever been in his life if he wasn’t so damn terrified. 

The truth was that it was all an elaborate game—Victor embracing him from behind at the division championships, aimed conspicuously in the direction of the flashing cameras, all the times Yuuri had seduced him for the sake of the sport. And he enjoyed it, this act between them, and if he perhaps enjoyed it too much, well. Who was there to blame him? 

_Victor is the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold onto_ , he’d said, and meant it, _but even so._ Even if he knew what he wanted now, that didn’t mean Victor did. Victor was inconsistent; he forgot his promises almost as quickly as he made them, and if he could leave his life behind at the drop of a hat for a man he’d never even met, it seemed just as likely that he might one day decide he was tired of the whole thing and fly back to Russia. 

They were sitting together over dinner one evening, one of the rare occasions when the rest of Yuuri’s family was nowhere to be found. When Victor set down his spoon, a thoughtful expression on his face, Yuuri knew he was in trouble. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet today.” He paused, considering his statement. “Not that that’s necessarily unusual for you, but if there’s anything I can do…”

Yuuri shook his head. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess.” 

Victor nodded. “It’s been a busy week.” 

“Do you—

He stopped. Victor cocked his head, eyebrows lifting with curiosity. 

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“I want…” Yuuri balled his fists, steadying himself, and pressed on. “I have to know that I’m not just another way of surprising the world for you.” 

His eyebrows knit together in concern. “Yuuri…how could you even think that?”

“I need to know. When you came here, I need to know that it wasn’t because the great Victor Nikiforov decided to shock his audience one last time.” 

Victor turned away, and for a moment Yuuri feared he’d angered him. _Perhaps it was wrong of me to be so bold._

“I was lost,” he said finally, staring through the window at some fixed point amidst the inky darkness. “Uninspired. That’s the death of a competitor in this sport.”

“I remember you telling me,” said Yuuri. 

“Just as I told you that I saw music in the movement of your limbs. It’s true. You inspired me, Yuuri. That’s why I came to Hasetsu.” 

“You didn’t even know me,” said Yuuri. “Was it really worth taking a chance on a stranger?”

Then again, why should he be surprised? If there was anyone who would take such a chance it was Victor. His coach turned away from the window to look at him. “What do you think?”

Yuuri bit his lip, lowering his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m glad you’re here.” 

A hand reached out, gently cupping his chin and tipping his head up. Victor’s face was so close, so open, his eyes sparking. Yuuri’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Now that I am here,” Victor practically purred, and Yuuri could feel hot air on his face, “have you found the result to be satisfactory?” 

“I…”

Yuuri’s mind was totally blank. He could do nothing but stare as Victor grinned at him, their noses almost touching, and try not to look at his mouth. 

“ _You_?”

Victor pressed his face closer, so close Yuuri swore he could feel the word vibrate against his lips. His brain, which had been completely unresponsive only moments before, kicked into overdrive. He panicked. 

“I have to go,” he blurted, backing away so quickly he tripped over himself. He scrambled back to his feet again, edging in the direction of his room, while Victor frowned in confusion.

“Yuuri…”

“I just remembered I have an, um, thing. Very important. I’ll…I’ll see you later.” 

He fled, slamming the door behind him without a backward glance. He sank to his knees. _He must think me an idiot. I’ve made such a fool of myself._

There was a knock. “Yuuri? Do you want to talk about it?” 

He took a shaky breath, opening the door a crack and peeking his head through. “I’m feeling quite sick today. I’ll make sure to rest up for practice tomorrow.” 

“Yuuri, you can’t avoid me forever.”

_I can try_ , he thought grimly. 

“Goodnight,” he said, and shut the door in his coach’s face. 

And in spite of his insistence that he was going to bed, it was a long time before he finally fell asleep. ( _“What I want,” Yuuri whispered into his pillow, and knew what he wanted was selfish, “is to be the one who stole you away from the world.”_ ) 

Victor seemed different at practice the next morning. Distant, which was odd, because even when he was a thousand miles away in Russia that was something he’d never been. That was what had drawn Yuuri to his performances in the first place—he was always so raw, putting everything out there for the world to see, and Yuuri admired that because it was something he’d never been capable of. 

Yuuri considered asking him about it, but decided against it. That could open an avenue to a conversation he really didn’t want to have, and besides, Victor might see it as an invasion of his privacy. 

But when Yuuri asked if they could go over the quads again after practice was finished Victor declined, mumbling something about having other things to do. It stung Yuuri, although it shouldn’t have, because he’d given the exact same response only the day before. But he’d assumed Victor would be used to it by now—he was hardly more forthcoming at the best of times. 

He stayed at the rink even after Victor left, going over and over the choreography, gritting his teeth in his attempt to get it perfect. After his sixth fall he resolved to call it quits. _You tend to flub your jumps when something is on your mind._

Maybe he should stop at Minako’s, dance away whatever was plaguing his thoughts ( _not whatever, he knew why he’d been so distracted_ ), but it was late and he was for once too restless to stay cooped up in the studio. 

He decided to go for a run along the harbour. Night had fallen, and the stars were just starting to come out. The lights from the buildings called out to him as he passed, and he wondered absently if Victor was behind any of the windows. _Silly_ , he thought, but he was too tired to properly reprimand himself. 

He imagined Victor at a restaurant or a bar somewhere, lounging on a stool at the counter, his usual grin smeared across his face. He would be drinking sake, or maybe vodka, that was more Russian, and flirting outrageously with someone pretty and young. Prettier than him, Yuuri knew, but that was inconsequential. He ran a little faster. 

Perhaps Victor wasn’t at a bar at all, but had gone back to the hot springs, and was taking a long, contemplative bath, letting the steam fill his brain. But Yuuri doubted it. It was a Friday night; Victor would want to be out on the town. 

When he became tired he stumbled his way in the direction of home. It was later than he’d thought; his parents were already asleep, and there was no sign of his sister. He crept down the hall to his room, pausing as he passed Victor’s closed door. He was tempted to open it, poke his head through, see if anyone was there, but he set his jaw and kept walking. 

He awoke with a start to a loud slam in the middle of the night, not having realized he’d drifted off. There was a sound of shuffling footsteps. 

He was surprised when his own door opened, sending a sliver of light dancing across the bed. Yuuri sat up, letting the blankets fall off him, rubbing his eyes. “Victor?”

“Good. You’re awake.”

He tiptoed into the room, shutting the door behind him with unusual delicacy. He crept forward, pausing at the foot of the bed. “May I…?”

“What?” The realization hit him. “Oh, um. Sure.”

Victor clambered up, scooting to a seat next to him. There was a conscious separation between them. Yuuri could feel his heart trying to beat its way out of its chest. 

“Out late?”

“Yeah.” Victor looked down. “I didn’t…want to go back to an empty bed.” 

“Are you propositioning me?” 

“Would you like it if I was?”

Yuuri tilted his head. “That’s a complicated question.”

_Damn._ He was definitely out of line now, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. 

“Oh yes?” Victor nudged his shoulder. “Does the Pork Cutlet Bowl have some pent-up eros that he needs to express?” 

He buried his face in his hands. “Forget I said anything.” 

Victor stretched back, lying with his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling in the darkness. 

“You surprise me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri felt his cheeks grow warm. “H—how’s that?” 

“I’ve been asking for weeks to let me sleep with you and you finally let me in at one in the morning.” 

“Call it a lapse in judgement.” He couldn’t resist a small, tired smile. “And I didn’t say you could sleep here.” 

He wasn’t sure how it was possible for an unfairly attractive twenty-seven year old to pout, but that seemed to be the closest explanation for whatever Victor was doing with his lower lip. “Please. No way I’m getting up now.” 

Everything that was reasonable in him told Yuuri he should shove Victor away, retreat into his shell like he always did, but this time something held him back. _I must really be exhausted if I’m bordering on delusional._ Instead, he laid down next to him, imitating his position. 

“It’s a big season coming up,” said Victor. “Are you ready for it?”

Yuuri rolled over to face him. “Are you?”

“I think so,” said Victor. “No, I know so. I told you I would help you win the Grand Prix Final, and that’s what I’m going to do.” 

They were silent together, and Yuuri hoped the thrill of his heartbeat sounded cacophonous only to himself. Victor shifted, stretching out a hand, and began absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair. Yuuri stiffened. He held his breath, trying very very hard to lie as still as possible. 

“You’re always so tense, Yuuri.” 

He gulped, forcing out a shuddery exhale. “Maybe it’s just my winning personality.” 

“You should just relax.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” he said. “They fail to mention _how_.” 

“I can help with that.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.” Victor’s hand moved from Yuuri’s hair to stroke his cheek. He felt the sudden need to sit down, and then remembered that he wasn’t even standing up. “Come on, Yuuri. You seem so comfortable when you’re skating to Eros. You’ll give your best performances if you can channel that energy elsewhere too.”

_Of course_ , he thought, and tried to ignore the touch of bitterness, _it’s all about the competition._ Because in the end, what else was it ever about? 

“I’ll try,” he said. 

Victor closed his eyes. “Yuuri?” 

“Hmm?”

“Seduce me,” he whispered. His voice was so soft Yuuri almost thought he’d imagined it. He bit his lip. 

“I thought I did that already,” he said, and the ease of his words surprised him. _My voice isn’t even shaking._

“On ice, maybe.” Victor opened his eyes a fraction, a slight grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “But what about right here?”

Yuuri had no answer to give him. There was no audience here for Victor to impress with his flamboyance, so why was he doing this? 

“I wish I could,” he said, and he really needed to be careful now, because he was coming dangerously close to some kind of confession. 

“Still so underconfident in your charms.” 

“You know me.”

“I do,” said Victor, serious now. “I’m happy to know you.” They were both quiet, and then he yawned, brightening again just like that. “It is late, isn’t it? We should get to bed.” 

“Mm.” 

He crawled beneath the sheets, curling up into a tight ball. Yuuri let him. He found himself resting a hand on Victor’s head, cautiously stroking his hair as he drifted off. 

“For the record,” Victor mumbled, “you could charm me any day.” 

By the time Yuuri had thought of a response, he was asleep. 

“You already do.” 

None of this could last, he knew. One day time and Victor’s attentions alike would pass him by, his body would fail, his career would be finished. No matter how badly he wanted his life to remain like this forever, all of it was so fleeting. He looked over at the figure resting next to him. _Then I’ll hang onto this moment_ , he thought, _however long it will last me._


End file.
